Compromising Miss Tisdale

by Jessica Jefferson

  He arrived with an entourage typical to his rank. A valet, footmen, but no uncle could be seen. From her vantage point, she could see the butler lead him up the stairs and introduce him to his rooms on the second floor. She waited for him to come back down, but he never did.

  She did not see him at dinner either.

  The family ate together that first night. Lord Colton and Lilly were staying for the duration and by all accounts were still blissfully happy. Tamsin was particularly insolent, but for no readily apparent reason. Rose was easily distracted and poorly attempting to hide a book under the table whilst they ate. Her father and mother made polite conversation, in which Ambrosia made it a point to appear fully engaged. A portrait of Thomas as a young man of ten and seven hung above the mantle, as if he too were included in the family’s dinner conversation. And not once did any of them mention the Earl, despite his presence just two floors above them.

  She was anxious. Of course, she dare not betray this feeling in any discernible way, but with each opening of a door or with the sound of men’s foot fall she could feel her heart leap out of her chest. It was excruciating to know how close he was in his physical proximity, but how far apart they were in every other way. Her cheeks grew warm remembering the feather touch of his lips purposely descending down her neck. She couldn’t imagine any of those London fops her mother threw at her causing her to feel in such ways.

  But Lord Bristol wasn’t even a possibility. The man had absolutely no intention of considering marriage, not that she held such notions for him. In fact, he had made his position on the subject quite clear in the aftermath of their evening in the garden. Granted, she did not subscribe to gossip, yet one would have to be deaf, dumb, and blind not to have heard about him and that Italian soprano. She ought to have been incensed, enraged, hostile, and hurt. And she had been—all that and more. But she was ever the sensible girl and not one of those ninnies that thought a man’s kiss was a promise for nuptials to come. It was just a kiss.

  A kiss that set her world a kilter since she first encountered him in the library.

  And that is what truly piqued her—the uncertainty of it all. She always knew what to expect and when to expect it. This was not part of the plan. He was not planned. Men were supposed to be predictable. She knew what their arms felt like while dancing, what they would say during polite conversation, how they all smelled like scented water, and how she would refuse them in the end. But the Earl had surprised her from the first moment she’d laid eyes upon him. He wasn’t the type to send her hot-house flowers and pen prose in her name. He was not predictable.

  Lord Bristol was like the channel. On the surface, it appeared to be smooth and harmless. Tempting, really. But once in the water, the current was powerful and could sweep you away without a moment’s notice.

  It was practically predatory.

  After dinner, the women gathered in a room together to work on their embroidery. Lord Colton and her father went off to do whatever it was men did when women were not around. The women enjoyed polite conversation, discussing popular fashions and upcoming social events.

  They discussed nothing about the magnificent man sleeping upstairs.

  Pleasant conversation. Contrived, but pleasant nonetheless.

  “The man didn’t even have the gall to join us for dinner,” Tamsin announced, seemingly out of nowhere.

  So much for pleasant.

  “Darling, the Earl is probably overly tired from his journey.” Flora attempted to soothe, keeping her eyes focused on the sampler at hand.

  “Of course. Such a journey. All of six hours. Must be terribly exhausting for a man used to doing so little.”

  “Tamsin!” the women all reprimanded with hushed tones.

  “What has gotten into you?” Lilly scolded. “I thought you were fond of the Earl. You always seem to revel in his escapades.”

  “Escapades lose their appeal after a while,” Tamsin defended, her statement causing the other girls to be taken aback momentarily.

  Flora shushed the girls with her finger, then gestured silently toward the ceiling. As if he could hear all their natter, despite the two floors between them.

  Ambrosia made a conscious effort to remain unaffected by the conversation. Tamsin had once portrayed a certain fondness for Lord Bristol, but it was true that fondness had turned bitter for no apparent reason. At least not to her.

  She was just putting the finishing touches on what promised to be a spectacular pillow for their green sitting room when Lord Colton entered.

  “I apologize for disturbing you ladies, but Thomas and I were hoping to borrow Ambrosia for a bit.”

  Flora set her hoop down in her lap. “Ambrosia?”

  Lilly, Tamsin, and Rose all exchanged conspiratory glances.

  Lord Colton nodded his head. “Yes, it is a question about numbers the Viscount has. He requested Ambrosia provide some insight. And it could take some time to figure out.”

  Flora looked at her eldest daughter with pity. “I know you had your heart set on finishing your pillow tonight, but could you be a dear and assist your father? You know how he gets when he’s in one of his moods.”

  Ambrosia knew exactly what kind of help her father needed, and knew good and well that her mother knew, too. Her mother was too much of a lady to acknowledge the farce for what it was. “Of course, mother. I would be glad to help. The tea roses will still be here in the morning.” She put her embroidery away in its basket and allowed Lord Colton to escort her to her father’s study.

  “Good of you to come, Ambrosia,” William said as they made their way down the now dark halls of Brightly. Her brother-in-law, Viscount Colton, had been acquainted with the family long before he married Lillian and had even attended school with their brother. He was terribly charming and armed with such golden good looks that it was difficult to refuse him no matter what he asked for.

  “Is father terribly bored?” She quickened her pace to keep up with her brother-in-law’s long strides.

  William smiled. “More visitors will come after they learn we’ve returned. But your father needs a challenge. He was hoping you’d be able to provide it.” The man practically giggled, he was so giddy.

  Ambrosia shook her head. “You know I am too old to keep indulging you like this. I’m not some parlor game you can trot out when you’re short on entertainment. What if someone found out about this? My reputation would be in tatters.”

  William stopped, looking quite serious. “Ambrosia, you don’t have to do this. Your father and I just thought you might enjoy a respite from your embroidery. You used to love it when you were younger, and you always save a bit of time for it when we’re in the country. I apologize if I’ve insulted you in some way . . . ”

  She tried to remain stern with her hands akimbo on her hips, but couldn’t stand to torture the dear man any longer. “Will, do have a sense of humor. Now, I hope you’ve brought plenty of paper for after I’m done with you, I promise you’ll owe me a great debt!”

  Chapter 18

  The smell of Port and cigars hung thick in the air.

  The Viscount sat back against the well-worn leather chair and took a long puff, exhaling dense yellow smoke. “I don’t believe you,” he challenged.

  Ambrosia matched her father’s hard stare with one of her own. “You don’t have to believe me. But you do have to bet.”

  William laughed from his side of the table. An hour ago, she’d been stolen away from the company of her sisters and was enlisted to participate in an evening of wagers and wine with her father and brother-in-law. Will passed a plate of derby cheese and crackers toward her. “Here, you need to keep up your strength. It must be exhausting giving us both such a beating.”

  Ambrosia raised an eyebrow whilst the men laughed boisterously. It was the kind of laugh that could only be born from an excess of wine and a lack of spousal reproach.

  “Though I thoroughly enjoy taking all your money in Loo, I do so prefer Whist,” she said wishfully
.

  “Ha!” Thomas barked. “And then you’d certainly walk away with the deed to all our estates. I know better than to challenge you in a game of Whist.”

  “Besides, we’d have to find a fourth,” interjected William, who was just a spectator by this point in the game.

  “I could be your fourth.”

  The three turned their heads to the unfamiliar voice in the doorway.

  Well, unfamiliar to two of them.

  Ambrosia was already dizzy with the excitement of the evening—no doubt the result of a combination of too much sherry and the heady effect of winning. She was hardly in an appropriate state to suffer the surprise of his voice, and the very site of him practically knocked her from her chair.

  “I apologize for missing dinner. My head was absolutely pounding from the ride here. When I finally awoke, my valet told me I could find some welcomed diversion amongst the men in the house,” Lord Bristol announced to the curious expressions around the table at the center of the room.

  And then he saw her.

  At first, it appeared that he hadn’t noticed her, nestled deep into the plush leather chair. But then his gaze locked with hers and by the agog look on his face, he was just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

  The Viscount stood up. “Please join us, Lord Bristol. I believe you’ve met Lillian’s husband, Lord Colton,” he gestured toward the tall blond man across the table. “And of course, you already know my daughter.”

  William stood up and bowed. “We’ve met a few times, now. Welcome to our little party, Bristol.”

  Duncan looked at Ambrosia, who was fingering over her hand of cards. He nodded. “Miss Tisdale. I must admit, I was not expecting to see you here.”

  That made two of them.

  “It was foolish not to expect it. I do live here, after all,” she said, rearranging her cards, the sherry giving her an altered sense of civility.

  A footman pulled out the empty chair between Ambrosia and Lord Colton and the Earl seated himself. A glass of Port arrived a second later.

  “I was referring to here, playing cards, not here,” he said, not nearly as amused at her wit as she was.

  “I hope you are not offended, my Lord,” the Viscount quickly chimed in to appease the discord. “My dear girl is one of the finest card players in all of London. Of course, it is properly acceptable for a young woman to indulge in cards, but generally not in this capacity.” He was referring, of course, to Ambrosia’s presence amongst such obscenely foolish wagers with no other women about and an absurdly large amount of spirits.

  “Ambrosia only indulges us on occasion and it has become a tradition for her to join us during our holidays here at Brightly. When her brother was alive, he used to get the greatest enjoyment from challenging his sister. Sibling rivalry, and all of that.”

  The Earl held up his hands. “I am hardly one to pass judgment.” He turned to Ambrosia, a small smile starting at the corner of his lips. “How ever did I get so lucky as to experience the ingénue in person?” His tone was colder than she was used to.

  “It’s not simply the cards,” William interrupted, “but rather it’s the wagers she’s good at. Anyone can learn how to play a game of Loo, but a gift for strategy is something you must be born with. If only Napoleon had been so lucky as to have Ambrosia lead his army, then we might very well be speaking French right now.”

  “It is not generally an accomplishment I boast of,” she explained, finally discarding.

  “And why is that?” Duncan asked, lighting a cheroot.

  She waved her hand in front of her nose to disperse the odor. “My ladies’ society does not approve of gambling.”

  Duncan feigned shock. “And what is wrong with gambling, may I ask? If it weren’t for the gaming hells, how on earth would society’s gentleman spend their time? I dare say it is matter of public safety.”

  The other men laughed and William threw down his last card, signaling the start of a new game. “You’ll be my partner, Ambrosia. Bristol can partner with Thomas.” He began dealing out the cards.

  Ambrosia went to retrieve her cards at the same time Lord Bristol went for his Port. Their hands grazed each other. Liquid fire pulsed through her veins and she feared his touch had seared her hand by the tingling that she felt.

  “How are things going with your ladies’ society?” Duncan asked seemingly unaffected.

  She counted her cards to validate that she indeed held thirteen. “I stepped down from my post and am no longer a member. Father, your lead.” She was quick to dismiss the subject, hardly wanting to explain herself to her father again.

  Her father smiled proudly at his trick. “What do you think of that, Bristol?”

  “Well played. I’ll warn you, two days prior to this I won a small fortune from Lord Kenning and I aim to continue my winning streak.”

  Tisdale laughed, sitting back into his chair again. “Kenning lacks any skill when it comes to games of chance. I used to tell his father to keep a close eye on him—he’s likely to lose an estate or two. Now don’t get me wrong, his father wasn’t much better. But at least he knew when to quit.” The Viscount’s lips had grown loose from the port.

  “Lord Kenning used to visit quite frequently with his sister,” William said flatly. “We invited him to join us a few times. And he lost every time. Sorely.” He laid down a card with a bit more force than necessary, looking at Duncan to continue.

  The game continued on until Ambrosia’s team won, easily. A natural break occurred between hands, with William excusing himself to check on Lillian and her father going off to answer nature’s call.

  She gathered the cards. Lord Bristol walked over to the buffet and refilled his glass. “Why are you no longer a member?”

  She paused a moment from her shuffling. “In light of my recent actions, I found the Society and my personal activities were no longer in accord with each other.”

  “It was so important to you,” he said, more for his benefit than hers. “You said you loved the work. Won’t you miss it?”

  Ambrosia kept her hands busy. “I most certainly will. Especially come summer’s end when it’s time for the harvest baskets. But I’ve done my duty and it’s time for someone else to step into the role. You see, the assembly of the baskets used to be sheer chaos. These are the ladies of the ton we’re talking about and the concept of work was quite novel to them.”

  She sighed, and he thought for a moment she was going to smile. “I abhor such commotion, so one of my first acts as chairperson was to create a plan and orchestrate the entire event with military-like precision. It worked, of course. And the ladies were able to distribute more baskets than ever last year. I shall miss it, but it was time that I move on. Perhaps someone new can leave their mark on the event now?”

  Duncan was quiet, swirling his port around in his cut crystal glass. “You revoked your own membership because of what transpired between us?”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “Do not flatter yourself, Lord Bristol. It’s hardly as dramatic as all that.”

  He was far more pensive than she was used to. A serious Lord Bristol was almost intimidating to be around.

  William returned first, thankfully. “Lilly is ready to retire for the evening. I told her I would be up, straight away. I hope you don’t mind if I turn in my cards and retire early?”

  Duncan grinned widely, William winking at him in some sort of gentleman’s code that was entirely lost upon her.

  “If you don’t mind, perhaps you can escort me to my own chambers. The night has lasted far longer than I had anticipated,” she said, thankful for any excuse to escape.

  Will obliged, holding out the crook of his arm for her to grab hold of. She could feel the intense gaze of Lord Bristol burning into her back, but did not care to turn to meet it. Her nerves had all they could take for one evening.

  Duncan watched the gentle sway of her hips as she strode away. Even though Ambrosia was related to Lord Colton by marriage and the ge
sture meant nothing, he still found himself staring down the green eyed monster that seemed to creep about in the most unsuspecting places.

  He hadn’t expected to see her that evening. He had taken dinner in his rooms, unwilling to face her just yet. He’d been intent on forgetting his feelings for her, and had hoped to at least attempt to avoid her best he could. But there she was in the most unlikely of places. The vision of Ambrosia sitting at a card table, a tower of chips in front of her, and a glass of sherry had nearly knocked him on his backside. She seemed perfectly at home surrounded by the putrid smell of cigar smoke, with men casually lounging about in a drunken state. Yet there she was, still impeccably dressed and her manners faultless, as if she was sitting on a settee at a French salon. Or upon a throne surrounded by diligent subjects. Even that slight scent of mint she wore was able to pervade his senses through the stench of his cheroot.

  If he wasn’t so damn resentful toward her, he could have very well fallen in love with her for that.

  That was the feeling he had settled on. Resentment.

  He knew it was only a short time before he swept some unwitting girl off her feet and then a substantial dowry would repopulate his starved accounts with much needed sustenance. He would craft a story for his uncle that would explain his sudden disinterest in Miss Tisdale. He would, in the end, win the game. But it was not because of his efforts. His efforts had resulted in failure. His efforts had been stalled, because somehow this genteel woman had bewitched him and stolen his sense of self, debauched as it was, right from under him.

  And for that he was resentful.

  Chapter 19

  The next morning, Ambrosia arrived in the breakfast room first. She was an early riser, rivaled only by Tamsin who preferred to go out for a ride before any of the others were awake. Ambrosia suspected it was so the girl could wear breeches and ride astride, but she had only the suspicions of a dutifully observant sister and no real evidence.